Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber

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      Cecilia squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t thinking clearly enough to answer him. Her heart leapt at the offer, but her head told her it would be a big mistake.

      “I was at the college this week,” she told him, avoiding his question for the moment.

      “Olympic College?”

      “I signed up for two classes.”

      “Cecilia, that’s great!” At least Ian was willing to encourage her, even if her father wasn’t. “What else is new?”

      “I’ve been working in the bar on weekends, to help pay off the credit card bills.” And all the attorney-related expenses, too. “I got paid on Friday and since I’m current with everything, I thought I’d put the extra money in the bank.”

      “Good idea.”

      “That’s what I thought, until I went window shopping.” It’d been almost a year since she’d gotten anything new—a few maternity outfits she’d recently given to charity. Last week, the temptation to spend her extra cash had been overwhelming. The spring clothes looked so appealing. There were new books she wanted. Cosmetics. A gorgeous pair of shoes. She sighed. “Everything started calling my name.”

      “So you decided if you were going to spend it, you’d make sure it was on something productive.”

      Ian did know her. “Yes.”

      “Good for you. When are your classes?”

      “Early mornings, three days a week.” She was lucky to get in, since school had already started. The early classes meant she wasn’t going to have a lot of time for sleeping in. That was all right, though. The months after she’d buried Allison, all she’d done was sleep. She’d welcomed the oblivion it offered, the release from pain.

      “Are you driving to school?”

      Cecilia laughed. “Of course I am.”

      “You don’t have the most reliable car.”

      Her 1993 Ford Tempo had almost a hundred-and-fifty-thousand miles on it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive. “If I run into problems, I can always take the bus.” It wouldn’t be a short trip nor would it be convenient, but it was manageable.

      Ian paused, as if silently debating with himself. “You didn’t answer my question.”

      “You want to see me?”

      “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      “Do I need a reason? You’re my wife.”

      “We’re separated.”

      “Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

      Cecilia’s hand tightened around the receiver. “We didn’t speak for months. Remember? Why is it so important that we see each other now?”

      “I have something I want to ask you,” he said.

      “Ask me now.”

      “No.” He was adamant about that. “I’d rather do it in person.”

      “When?” She knew all these questions of hers were nothing more than a delaying tactic.

      “Soon. Listen, Cecilia, I don’t know how long I’ll have before I’m deployed. I’ve got a proposition for you.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Okay, okay, you’re right, we are separated, but you’re the one who wanted that.”

      By the time he’d moved out of the apartment, Ian had been in full agreement. Now he’d decided to heap all the blame for the separation on her shoulders.

      “Fine, you don’t want to see me,” he said shortly.

      Cecilia sighed. “It isn’t that.” The truth of it was she did want to see him. More than anything.

      “Then set the day and time.”

      Cecilia closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her brow as she tried to think.

      “Do you want my attorney to contact your attorney?” he asked.

      “No!” she flared, angry he’d even suggest such a thing.

      “Then tell me when I should come over.”

      “You want to come here?” That put a whole new slant on the invitation.

      “Fine, we can go somewhere else,” he said. “Anytime, anyplace. You just tell me. I’m not asking again, Cecilia.” His voice held an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

      “All right,” she whispered. “How about next week? Someplace in Bremerton? You choose.”

      His relief was palpable, even over the phone. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

      But it was, damn hard, and Ian knew it.

      “When are you free to meet?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

      “I’ll let you know. All right? It depends on what’s happening with the John F. Reynolds, but it’ll be soon.”

      This wasn’t exactly anytime or anyplace, but then he was in the Navy, and the military ruled his life—and consequently hers.

      Six

      Thursday afternoon was the monthly potluck at the Jackson Senior Center, named after longtime Washington State senator Henry M. Jackson. Charlotte looked forward to these get-togethers with her dearest friends. It was a time to visit, catch up on each other’s lives, share a fabulous lunch and listen to a speaker. Generally it was someone from the community. A local politician had spoken in January—a real windbag, as far as Charlotte was concerned. In December, the sheriff had discussed safety tips for seniors, and his talk was one of the best received in months. He’d been both interesting and informative.

      It just so happened that the speaker for the first week in February was Jack Griffin. Charlotte wouldn’t have missed it for the world. She arrived early, secured a table for her knitting friends and made sure the spot next to her was saved for Jack.

      “Yoo-hoo, Laura,” Charlotte called, waving her hand so her friend could see where she was sitting. The ladies in the knitting group always ate together at these functions. As the unofficial head of the group, Charlotte was expected to arrive early and claim the table—not that she minded.

      Laura nodded in her direction and carried her dish of deviled eggs to the buffet table. Her friend made the most incredible deviled eggs. She didn’t fill them with the standard yolk-and-mayonnaise mixture. Instead, Laura stuffed hardboiled egg whites with a crabmeat-and-shrimp salad. Every month, her platter was among the first to empty.

      Charlotte had brought the broccoli lasagna recipe she’d picked up at Lloyd Iverson’s wake. She’d experimented with it and added СКАЧАТЬ